


Reverie

by divinecomedienne



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, I feel like any other tags might spoil it a bit, post-4x15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9915716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinecomedienne/pseuds/divinecomedienne
Summary: They were so familiar, those eyes. Why the bloody hell couldn’t he remember her name?





	

She smelled fresh and cool, like a summer rain shower, but her breath was warm on his cheek. She murmured something in his ear that he didn’t quite catch in a soothing English accent he was having trouble placing. Yorkshire maybe? He smiled and nodded vaguely, gazing at the dusting of freckles on her cheekbones, just visible beneath makeup obviously intended to hide them. His heart, already racing, beat faster still as she angled her head to kiss him again, golden-brown eyes locked on his, tender yet assertive. They were so familiar, those eyes. Why the bloody hell couldn’t he remember her name? 

Her lips were soft and just slightly sticky; she tasted like a cup of sweet tea. He held her face in both hands as if to drink her up. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent; her hands slid down his back and untucked his shirt. He gave a sharp intake of breath as cold fingers—impossibly cold, it seemed to him—found his blazing skin. The sensation was both painful and yet strangely thrilling. She smiled against his mouth and mumbled an apology but her icy hands continued their work: now moving round to his chest to begin deftly unfastening his buttons. Almost without thinking, he mimicked her actions, pulling her top free of her trousers and then fumbling for the zip. 

The room around them had faded to a blur; he couldn’t even remember exactly where they were, nor did he care, but he knew there was a bed somewhere behind him. Awkwardly, not wanting to break the kiss, he began to shuffle slowly backwards, pulling her along with him, one hand on the small of her back. His shirt was completely open now and she pushed it off his shoulders as they went, then dipped her head down to lap at the sensitive spot just above his collarbone. He hummed with pleasure and closed his eyes, hardly aware that he was still moving until the backs of his knees collided with the edge of the bed. He tumbled backwards and she tumbled with him; down and down they fell, into what seemed like a bottomless abyss until he landed with a jolt and a gasp.

He sat up sharply and blinked. His heart was still pounding and he felt hot, flustered and confused. 

‘Fitz? You ‘kay?’ Agnes’ voice was thick with sleep. He glanced down at her guiltily, glad that he couldn’t make out her features in the dark bedroom. 

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just hot, that’s all. Go back to sleep. I’m gonna get a glass of water. I’ll be back in a sec.’ He groped for her hand and squeezed it briefly, then hurriedly got up and left the room. He was halfway down the corridor before he realised that he should probably have put on some clothes, or at least a dressing gown. What if one of the staff couldn’t sleep either? Oh well; they’d just have to deal with the sight of his Dalek pyjamas! It was too hot for proper clothes anyway.

Fitz made his way down the three flights of stairs to the kitchen still in a daze. He couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. The English girl with the golden-brown eyes who’d been haunting his dreams—and what dreams they’d been!—for nights on end. And yet was she really anything more than a figment of his imagination? If they’d actually met he was sure he’d remember it very clearly indeed. 

In the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of iced water and downed it in one gulp. Then he leaned over the sink and ran the cold tap straight onto his sweaty head. At last, he felt a little cooler but no calmer; his mind was still whirling relentlessly through a kaleidoscope of images: that wide smile; that creamy freckled skin; those beautiful, determined eyes…

Outside the sky was beginning to turn a dirty shade of pink and a few birds were chirping in the sycamores on the front lawn. Fitz decided to walk down to the gates and back to try to clear his head. It was still so early there was no way anyone else in the neighbourhood would be out and about, not even the maids and gardeners. 

Slipping on a pair of flip-flops, he started down the driveway, enjoying the near-perfect quiet. But when he'd almost reached the gates, the silence was suddenly broken by a car rounding the bend at the end of the road at speed and screeching to a halt directly opposite his house. 

Fitz froze, wondering whether he should try to dash back inside, but before he could make a decision the passenger-side door of the car opened and a girl got out. But, no, not A girl; it was THE girl. The girl from his dreams. And she was running towards him, her arms outstretched. She was beaming but she seemed to be crying too.

‘Fitz!’ she called out in that distinctive voice of hers. ‘It’s me: Jemma. You’ve got to wake up!’


End file.
